


Prismatic Dreams

by WindwiseWords



Series: Xenogen City [50]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Altered Mental States, Character Death In Dream, Could Possibly Be Headcanon, Crying, Dreams and Nightmares, Golden Age?, Mental Anguish, Not Canon Compliant, Party, Pre-Orion Pax, Primus - Freeform, Related to Golden Age, Religion, Sad Ending, Temple, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-20
Updated: 2017-04-20
Packaged: 2018-10-21 09:17:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10682316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WindwiseWords/pseuds/WindwiseWords
Summary: Optimus finds himself in a dream that predates his common memory. He learns a bit about himself, and a mech of many ages past.





	Prismatic Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> It's supposed to be a slight insight to the time of the Primes in a way. A time before Pax.
> 
> Also I wanted to make Optimus cry today.

When Optimus opened his eyes he found himself in an old temple. Or, rather, a new temple. He recognized this space, and found himself surrounded by faces he barely recalled by name. And yet he found himself unable to move his body to his own will.

A party swirled around, gentle regal music and even more regal frames around him. Suddenly he could feel his limbs again, in the middle of some political discussion a purple-eyed mech stared right at him. “Don’t you agree, Optimus Prime, sir?”

The Prime froze up, and he slowly looked at the mech. He couldn’t recall this one’s name but he knew him to be some royal noble, and knew that he had it out for him. Optimus narrowed his optics, and the other mech matched him with a coy smirk. Then he saw _him_.

Sauntering up as if he owned the palace of a temple the little mech looped an arm with the challenger and purred something sweetly to him. “Please? I’d love to dance with a mech like you… Indulge me.” With a wide blue eyed stare, Optimus Prime could hardly believe the raw beauty of this mech as he laughed like bells and spun off with his rival.

_I have no rivals left,_ Optimus thought. The war was over, and he was far out of the political process arena. He politely excused himself to head to the dance floor and watch, dodging others similar to that gorgeous mech but he found himself dismissing every one in his effort to get to the dance floor.

The temple, washed in a bright glow of golden-white light, dimmed in comparison to this mech. The rival looked lesser so compared to him, dazzling iridescent paint trailing flashes of rainbows of various hues. And he looked so at peace, dancing about as if sliding on ice. Optimus found himself entranced in ways he hadn’t felt since…

Since when? There was a time before Orion Pax, he knew that much, but how far back did this memory go. A flood of nausea and discomfort sent him rushing from the space in long strides, looking for the outside. A hand stopped him and he tried to wiggle free, only to find the grip too strong. When he turned to demand release or else he froze.

“Vector Prime?” The mech nodded and smiled knowingly.

“Why are you in such a hurry, Optimus? Did you forget a duty? Surely you wouldn’t, it’s not like you to forget anything.” The mech kept that small coy smile. For a moment Optimus Prime wondered if Vector Prime was part of the memory, or really in his processor. It wouldn’t be the first time.

“I just need fresh space, if you would not mind pointing me to the way out.” Optimus stated measuredly, waiting to see if this dream-Vector Prime reacted like an apparition or a real live mech.

He did neither, nodding and guiding him to the entrance of the temple and gesturing him out before returning to chat among a flock of noble and scholarly seekers.

The closer he got to this entrance the softer the music and weird smells and laughter of nobility became and the more his spark relaxed. Finding a bench he slowly lowered himself onto it and put his face in a hand.

“Primus…” He whispered, wondering where his processor pulled this dream out of; maybe it was a nightmare in disguise. He sighed at the irony that seeing old nobles long dead could have been more than annoying.

The sound of soft pede-steps made him freeze and try to online his weapons, just about done with all of this making his head spin worse than Whirl after too much enjex. When nobody came he stood and went to get some answers. Parting from his bench to a path he wandered toward the steps and into a garden, fully alive with native flora. Some was extinct from the war, and he wished Perceptor or Ratchet were there to gather samples to culture the plants.

Just as he reached for a single crystalline flower he froze. Through the translucent petals, a flash of rainbow caught his optic and the Prime stood up. That dancer, spinning and humming to the music so distant now, stood right before him just over this planter of flowers. Despite his big pedes he weaved his way through, silent as Jazz (when he wanted to be), and stood to watch.

As the song faded out and the mech fell into a bow, Optimus smiled lightly and clapped, startling the dancer to draw himself up and clutch his hands at his chest. “Sir! I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wander from the party. I just wanted to see the gardens…” He trailed off, looking worried, and dropped his voice to a light whisper. “Please don’t tell…”

Tell? Tell who? This was a full grown mech who acted like a sparkling about to get in trouble. Optimus Prime slowly bent to the side, plucked a single flower, and approached the shy mech. He looked up curiously and blushed as the Prime slipped the stem behind a finial.

“I will not… Tell.” Optimus rumbled softly. “If you dance for me once more.”

The littler mech tilted his head and smiled brightly, gently taking Optimus’ hand in his own. “Perhaps you would be so kind as to dance with me?”

Another song started; the little glowing mech gave him little option but to lead them both into a simple waltz. At first they struggled to find a rhythm, one so large and clunky, the other small and lithe, but they found that between them it was easy to match. Like a fitted piece of armor, Optimus realized, this mech fit with him well despite the size difference.

“What is your name?” He asked quietly, spinning the mech out before pulling him back. He turned gracefully so that each hand was in Optimus’, back to the larger mech’s chest. He looked up with those stunning blue eyes, swimming with rainbows in the low light.

“They called me Prism. I’m sure you realized why.” He giggled and untwisted himself before leading the Prime back into a dance. “Unlike the other escorts I was born with my paint. Most don’t believe me but surely a Prime could see I’m telling the truth.”

Optimus somehow knew it was true, such a rare color overtop a silver-red undercoat. He nodded blankly, realized he looked dazed, and shook his head as the little mech laughed. “Have we danced before, Prism?” He asked quietly. “Tonight, I find myself lost and confused. It feels like all of this happened once before.” Prism almost tripped, recovering gracefully as he pushed himself up against the Prime’s chest almost desperately.

“Isn’t it just a dream? You’re not real… All of them aren’t. Maybe Vector Prime sir is but surely Optimus Prime wouldn’t dance with a mid-class escort like me.” Prism sounded hurt almost. “You were always everyone’s favorite Prime, so kind and gentle, you always had someone hanging on your arm.”

Two thin arms came to latch around Optimus’ larger one, and suddenly his battle scars were there again. The music faded abruptly and though he felt like he knew this mech for years and simultaneously just met him, he clung tight.

“I… Don’t believe I’m just an apparition. Or I would not feel so strongly that this is also just a dream.” The little mech clung back and looked panicked and scared.

“Optimus Prime in the frame… Sir, it’s been so lonely.” His eyes, beautiful even when pain seeped into them, refused to leave his own. “I don’t know where I am, but when I am not dreaming, it’s cold and dark. I can’t feel any sparks around me. What happened?” He paused and horror crossed that beautiful face. “Am I dead? Did I not go to the Well? No, you’d go to the Well. For certain, for certain…”

Optimus carefully picked the little mech up and started running for the darker parts of the garden, away from the laughter and music. Prism startled but just clutched tight, shivering the further they got. Eventually the temple gardens reappeared, though cracked and lacking any sort of care. There were no lights, other than faint starlight. As he reached the temple grounds Prism latched his fingers onto an armor plate so tight it hurt.

“N-No! Not back in the cold!” He wailed, hiding his face in Optimus’ chest and whimpering like a kicked cyberhound puppy. “Not back in the stone.”

Optimus almost asked what he meant but a tremor through the ground sent him leaping for the temple as the garden crumbled away. Prism flinched as it slapped and reached for it. “It’s crumbling more? Oh at this rate I’ll be crumbled away too!” And with each tear that started to fall Optimus’ spark grew heavy with the desire to comfort the dancer. _Escort,_ he reminded himself. _Like for the fancy parties the high class mechs had?_

“What do you mean, crumble away?” Optimus asked slowly. With a hesitant face he pointed into the temple hall, lined with broken and long rusted metal statues. Some were in better shape than others, but as he turned his lights on to see better a familiar flash of rainbow caught his attention.

In the dance hall of the temple, there stood a statue that looked uncannily like Prism and sported the same silver-red paint with the pearlescent topcoat. Optimus looked down at Prism and startled to see the mech turning translucent.

“Prism!” Optimus turned to back out, started running but the mech shook his head and nestled against him.

“No, it’s alright sir.” He said softly. “This is how all my dreams end. I come back here and fade away.” The mech looked up and smiled. “But at least this time, I got to dance with you once. I always wanted to, you know, and if you really are Optimus Prime and not just part of my dreams, you know where I am.”

Optimus felt his spark sink. “Prism, Cybertronian temples are all gone. The planet crumbled away, like this temple.” Prism made a soft ‘oh’ as if this was just fine.

“That explains why the others fell apart.” He said quietly, rubbing tears from his optics. After a long moment of silence he pointed to a bench, and Optimus sat down, still holding the fading mech. “Maybe this was a last effort on Primus’ part to save me. Or Vector Prime… He visited occasionally. But he can’t awaken me, because he’s never really here but everywhere.”

“Prism, do you know your coordinates?” Optimus asked, desperate to see if maybe there was some way to reach this trapped mech.

The dancer looked confused and laughed softly. “Optimus, it’s alright. Even if you knew, how could you reach me? It’s alright. If I have to fade away at least I finished what I wanted in life. I’ve danced with all the primes, the original ones. I probably have lived a lot longer than most mechs. My life has been dreams that fade into nightmares, but each one brings me to see a friend… Optimus? Why are you crying?”

The Prime didn’t answer, just held the mech close to his chest and tried to avoid crushing him. “I can’t save you.”

Prism frowned and took out a fading cloth to rub the tears away, but it went right through his cheek that time. He sighed and shook his head. “Maybe you can. I don’t know. But you know what? At least when you’re holding me, it’s not so cold anymore.” He smiled and closed his optics, and Optimus wished he could look at them one more time. Distantly someone called his name. “Someone needs you.” The mech murmured.

“You require me more right now.” Optimus replied, clearing his voice as he found it husky with grief.

Prism grinned tiredly and nodded, resting against him as he continued to fade out to just barely an outline. “It’s okay Optimus. If there’s a way, you’ll find it. If not, at least I didn’t fade away alone this time…”

 

“—mus! Optimus, for the love of slag come back to us!”

With a startled grunt, Optimus’ optics flew open and he bolted up. A team of mechs pushed him flat back and suddenly Ratchet was there over him with the most worried expression, flashing light in his eyes. For a single moment the rainbows reminded him of someone…

“Prism.” Optimus forced himself up against the team and tried to stand. “I need a ship. I need to go back to Cybertron, there’s someone there.”

Ratchet eyed him and abruptly winged a wrench at those trying to block him before going to stand in front of Optimus himself. “Optimus, you need to sit down. You were in commune with Primus for half a week and haven’t refueled once—Optimus?” The great leader and bearer of the matrix began to tear up, staring at Ratchet with such a false tough face that with one snap the medic team turned on their friends and forced them out.

“Prism is still out there, Ratchet.” Ratchet stared at him for a long while. “Prism. I do not remember why I knew this mech, but he is in a temple.”

“The temples are gone too.”

“Pieces are left. He’s about to crumble into space.” Optimus felt panic again and rubbed his optics before freezing. “I need to borrow a ship. Wheeljack has one.”

Ratchet looked more alarmed and shook his head. “Not that rust-bucket! Look, Optimus, I’m no believer in Primus but I believe you. If you say there’s some mech out there I’ll pack up my medical bag and we can go. But not in that ship, and not when you’re so weak in the frame your optics can’t hang onto their fluid.”

Optimus gritted his dentae and rubbed his eyes again. “I am fine. We need to go. Now.”

Ratchet frowned and shook his head with a scoff. “Optimus—“

“Ratchet, he is going to die. He is possibly from before Orion’s time.” He paused and looked down. “Perhaps he knew that Optimus Prime. From a time before war.”

Ratchet slowly backed off and considered this. “I could search the files for that name, but I doubt anything is going to come up. I tell you what: if you rest for a full cycle, drink all the fuel your frame asks for, and don’t give me any sass about it, I’ll go look through every file I have in that time and see if I can’t find a ‘Prism.’ And…” He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck as Optimus gave him the ‘puppy eye’ look. “And I’ll tell Wheeljack to ready the ship.”

Optimus instantly strutted back to the medical bay and downed half a cube in two gulps. Ratchet nodded firmly, and went to fetch a datapad to start his research, shaking his head and mumbling about how insane everyone became after the war.

Optimus thought it insane too. He looked down and wondered if he was risking too much for the slight chance Primus gave him some dream connection to this mech. A soft shine caught his attention, and with a finger he wiped a teardrop off his chest. His optical fluid was pink like pink energon; this one was iridescent and caught light before drying and fading away.

With conviction he downed the rest of the cube, and settled back to rest and try to recharge. A small part of him hoped to have the dream again. A larger part hoped he slept til the ship was ready. And the largest part of him prayed to Primus to hold that temple together a little longer.


End file.
